


Three's a crowd

by Maisie_13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23571967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maisie_13/pseuds/Maisie_13
Summary: Sherlock's life took a mundane twist since Eurus went back to her cell; it mainly consists of making tea for John to come home to and teaching Rosie everything of importance. However, how does he cope when the quiet life he has become so accustomed to is part of a bigger lie, a case that could change his life forever- and as we all know, real-life has no happy ending.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. Mundane Life

This issue is never the who, that he has known for as long as he can remember; through all the cases, all questions, the most important is never who - The most important question will always remain to be: Why? Maybe that’s why his piqued interest for crime started because normal people (aka civilised idiots) never ask the right questions and thus never acquire the correct answer. 

It’s been a while since he’s had an interesting case, more so since he has been mentally challenged. In fact, his life has become awfully mundane. Something that has him pacing back and forth on the already worn through floor and developing an emotionally invested connection to Rosie. 

Said infant was currently crawling around the flat grabbing things with her chubby hands while gurgling incorrigible nonsense. He swiftly lifted her into his arms, smiling briefly as she tugged at his dark curly locks that had still yet to be tamed by anything akin to a hairbrush. She had grown considerably since Mary’s final message, developed distinguishing features that resembled her mother far more than her father. However, she had his eyes. Strange really, how eyes can convey such emotion; something he had only just learnt. Her eyes were rid of the pain and sorrow that seemed to torture John’s and instead was filled with childish curiosity and wonder for the world around her. 

The floor grumbled slightly as footsteps ascended the stairs and Sherlock turned to face the visitor, still holding tightly to the squirming child on his chest. He, of course, knew that it was John coming home from work yet he continued to poke Rosie softly in her ribs muttering softly to her as he climbed the steps. 

“Who is it? Who’s coming to see us, Rosie? Think it’ll be anyone interesting, anyone fun?” He gave a second for a response and when he only received a jumbled mess of words continued unabashed. “No, you’re right, probably not. London is awfully boring at the moment, isn’t it? Shall we go see who it is?” 

With that he stalked towards the door, ripping it open before John had the chance to reach his key to the lock. Rosie gave an elated giggle at the sight of her father, wriggling even more in Sherlock’s arms. “Dadda! Dadda!” Her voice chimed round the flat and her excited smile was matched by the man stood on the other side of the door. He scowled quickly at John and passed him the child before turning abruptly back to his armchair in the centre of the room. 

“Hi, baby girl.” John greeted happily brushing her blonde locks from her face. As he shuffled into the room he dispensed of his coat and briefcase in the cupboards and reached for the closest hot coffee in the room. There were two as Sherlock always had a warm cup ready for his arrival home. “Good day?” He asked, finally addressing Sherlock who sat directly across from him - laptop light illuminating his sharp features. Sherlock looked up at the comment before shrugging slightly and reverting his attention back to the screen. “What is wrong with you now?” 

Mrs Hudson suddenly bustled into the room, running over to give Rosie a sweeping kiss on the cheek and brushing some nonexistent dirt from John's shoulder. She eyed Sherlock carefully before turning around to face the father and daughter with a bubbly smile: “Oh pay no mind to him. He’s still sulking about the lack of crime in the area; if anything he should be happy, no crime means people are all getting al-“

“Getting along!” Sherlock roared, making the child in John’s lap flinch. Noticing he quickly brushed her cheek with his fingers and softened his tone remarkably. “People are not ‘getting along.’ You normal people do not just ‘get along,’ never have and never will. What is bothering me is that it has been months since I have even had an inquisition about a lost dog. What has happened whereby I am not useful anymore, I am useful. I am resourceful and clever and all those stupid people are figuring out their problems on their own and I don’t know how. Something is wrong, something is definitely not quite right. Mycroft is ignoring my calls as is Greg and it is so frustrating to just sit here and do nothing!” His tone had risen as he spoke and now Rosie was crying angrily in John's lap. “To top it all off, that little thing won’t stop crying about nothing!” 

With that, he stormed out of the room leaving an astonished John and Mrs. Hudson behind him. 

***

The helicopter roared around him despite the cancelling headphones wrapped around his ears. One look outside told him he was only 15 minutes away from his desired destination but the storm blistering around them only fuelled the anger in his chest. 

Although he was the most emotional of the three siblings, he was still not accustomed to the large array of emotions John had introduced to him; the main being anger. Prior to John, anger would be best be described as finding a case hard to solve (which he now knows as frustration) or his brother arresting him for murdering someone (apparently betrayal) but there were still some that confused him. This one in particular hence it being dubbed as anger. His fingers tapped out a melody on his violin case, a song he had been working on for a while and yet could not find the notes to perfect the bridge. The bridge of the song is something Sherlock decided was the most important; it was the part of the song that sets the mood of the song and in effect ties all the verses together. Snapping his fingers to his palm, Sherlock tapped the shell of the case with his knuckles earning a side-eye from the pilot. 

Finally, they were landing. The helicopter swayed as it found base but soon opened the doors to the salty smell of the sea. Stray droplets hit his cheeks as he ungracefully tumbled from the helicopter onto the damp stone that surrounded the establishment. 

Friendly faces offered him a wary smile as he sauntered through the entrance heading on a path all too familiar He finally got there, offered the guards a quick glare that had them scrambling to leave him alone, and entered the cell quietly. 

There she sat in the same place as usual. Back to the entrance and eyes glued to the dusty white walls that surrounded her on five sides. He watched through the glass as her posture shifted slightly in his presence, tense shoulders dropped slightly and her body seemed to release a long-held breath. Smiling to himself, Sherlock pressed forward until he was as close to the glass as he could get. 

“Come” He beckoned quietly, “Come, I’m back. I’m here, Sherlock’s here.” Choosing his words carefully seemed to have the most effective response as she turned on her seat to face him, still eyeing him carefully. 

Instead of looking at her, waiting for her to move, he reached into his case and brought the violin to his chest. When he looked up, she was in front of him with a dainty hand pressed against the glass. Raising his hand to meet hers over the glass, he avoided eye-contact, fully aware of her triggers; akin to a wild animal, eye contact was not something to be shared with his sister… not even with him. 

A soft melody filled the silence that had fallen on the room and Euros quickly caught up, harmonising with him almost instantaneously. He broke away at the bridge like always lost as to what comes next. Though nothing could have prepared him for the spin his sister fit into the song, attaining the melody at a harsher tone for a few seconds before returning back to the original composition. Smiling at her, he nodded and sat cross-legged in front of her. Paying too much attention to his threaded laces. 

“May I talk?” 

Euros smiled at him crookedly and nodded with fluttering eyes. 

“I’m bored,” he began, chancing a glance at her face which was wearing her feature frown. “No one is doing anything, no one is dying or stealing or committing any crime. Solving problems is what I do, it’s what I’m good at. Now it’s been taken away I don’t know what to do. I’m wracking my brain for a solution but there’s nothing I can do when no one feels the right to involve me!” 

“Rosie keeps crying, and my god, she called me ‘Daddy’ the other day and I nearly dropped her. My life currently revolves around a child and her father. I feel normal and it is awfully boring to be normal. I miss my life, my job, my friends. Hell, I’m even beginning to miss the imbeciles with the stupid stories. All I have is a baby and my thoughts for entertainment. Do you understand my frustrations?”

Euros looked at him with a strange smirk on her face, causing a chill to flood through Sherlock's bones. Clearing her throat, her response came scratchy and vague as usual. “Maybe you’re looking for chaos where chaos has no home. You ought to create space for these things, Sherlock. Now hurry, before you get dumber than you already are.”

Casting her a glare, he threw up his hands with frustration. “You haven’t helped at all!” He spat. 

“On the contrary,”

Another smirk graced her lips and with a final utterance, she turned away, walking back to her seat with deliberate suspense. 

***

Shamed, Sherlock scuffed at the floor as John ranted at him. He had got home 27 minutes ago and had yet to say a word around John's constant lecturing. Rosie was unfortunately in bed which means he had missed his night routine with a child, he outwardly grimaced at the thought; a face which caused a pause in John's speech. 

“Am I wasting my breath voicing my concern, Sherlock?” The man finally sighed, giving a final emotion-filled sigh. “I didn’t know where you were. You were gone hours, you weren’t answering your phone, I thought… I thought you were dead. If I hadn’t got a call from Mycroft wondering about a security breach at the centre I - I don’t know what I would’ve done. You can’t do that, not again, not now.”

“Now?” Sherlock wondered aloud, he had followed until then. 

“Yes, now, You’re a large part in Rosie’s life and I refused to have her lose yet another important person like -“

“She was too young to remember Mary!” Sherlock shouted. However, as soon as the words had left his lips a bitter taste filled his mouth. John took a physical step back as though he had raised his hand and the hard exterior on his face broke. A stray tear trailed down his cheek and he didn’t bother to wipe it. “John,” he started, lifting a hand to attempt to wipe the physical reminder of the pain he had just caused his best friend from his cheek. The greying man simply flinched away from his touch and turned on his heel. “Fuck…”

Sherlock stayed in his armchair that night, tossing and turning as his brain replayed the event from earlier again and again. 

“ _You’re looking for chaos where chaos has no home”_ Her voice taunted him behind the mental imagery. His brain alive with the idea of a riddle and sleep was forgotten for tonight. 


	2. Adult Conversations

John awoke the next day to an abnormally quiet house. He checked his watch and groaned at the time; it was later than it should’ve been and a small panic swelled in his chest as he realised he would not only be late but had also missed the daily car that was normally sent for him at 8:30 AM. 

His daughter wasn’t crying for him, possibly the biggest anomaly, and trying to ease his erratic heartbeat he slid out of bed and crept into her bedroom. She wasn’t there. 

Now, with his past, he felt he had the right to worry for reasons that were not limited to his paternal instincts. Anything could happen when living with a man with the likes and personality of Sherlock homes; his stomach churned in anger at the thought of his curly-haired, male companion. 

How dare he disappear like that! He could have been anywhere, he could have been hurt! Then a thought struck him, was he still here? Had they taken him too, as well as his daughter? Had his daughter even been taken?

He jogged slightly into Sherlock's bedroom, his dressing gown creating a breeze on his calves as it bellowed behind him. The room was in shambles, pieces of paper covered in his scrawny handwriting littered the floor and there were dents in the way from clear results of impulse anger. However, his bed was made and untouched (a habit of Sherlocks OCD) but he was not set at his desk where he usually remained until John went to work. Dread filled him, first tickling his toes until it reached his head in the form of a pounding headache. 

He headed to the front door, clear on his intent to check on Mrs. Hudson and see if there were any clear signs of a break-in when he heard a slight sound from the living room. 

Stopping, John paused by the door trying to listen to any sounds of struggle or pain. To his surprise, it was the polar opposite. The soft sound of Rosie’s laugh filled his ears through the slightly open wooden door followed by Sherlocks much deeper laughter.

“Rosie,” Sherlock started, completely oblivious to John's presence behind the door. “We have to be quiet while we wait for Daddy to wake up, I have a feeling he’s not sleeping great at the moment and he needs his rest” There was a pause followed by another giggle from Rosie, “As do we!” 

John knocked on the door, unsure as to why he did so in his own home, in fear of breaking up such a special moment between his daughter and best friend. He heard Sherlock clear his throat and looked up upon his entrance guilt evident on his sharp features. His lips opened to begin speaking as Rosie lifted her arms towards John, making a grabbing gesture with her chubby fingers. 

He quickly swept over the creaking floor and cradled his face into her tiny shoulder, holding her warm body to his chest. John then moved to the arm of the chair and perched next to Sherlock's arm, pressing against it slightly with his thigh making sure he really was there. 

Sherlock placed a hand on his knee and then used it to push himself upward. “I didn’t know when you would awaken this morning so I have yet to make you a cup of tea; I’ll be back momentarily” With that the dark-haired genius walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, catching his eye quickly before looking away. 

***

When Sherlock returned he turned to pass John his warm drink before sitting back down in his armchair, turning to face John where he rested on his own. 

“You didn’t wake me,” John stated with no bitterness in his tone, just confusion. 

“No…” Trailed Sherlock in response, an eyebrow raised on John's face egged him to continue in explanation. “No, I didn’t. I believed that you would benefit from a lie in for once in your life especially with the increase of nightmares you’re suffering through nightly. So I called Mycroft, explained you were not feeling well and got Rosie ready.” 

Despite hearing the brief explanation to his morning through the door it didn’t prepare him for the sheer niceness of the act that surrounded the unusual behavior of his friend. He also didn’t realise that his frequent nightmares were so clear on his face however, he was talking about Sherlock Holmes - everything was clear to him. 

“I-“ John started, apprehensively turning his attention to playing with Rosie’s fingers. “I want to talk about what happened last night. It would be good for us to talk about it.” Sherlock nodded, waiting with a cautious sip of his tea. “What you said was wrong. However, I was also wrong in purposefully pressing you when I knew you needed space. I understand that you are not particularly built for such a domestic life but it suits you, Sherlock, I am not saying you should give up doing what you do because it makes you happy. I am simply saying that this break-in crime is not such a bad thing as you think.” 

Sherlock nodded in understanding, thinking carefully. “I know I should not have said what I did but it is not the fact that I was mindfully spiteful, just the fact that I am getting frustrated. All I see are these same walls every day and Rosie… she called me ‘Daddy’ the other day, John. This is not something I had prepared myself for when you moved back in here, I was stupid to believe that co-parenting the child would be something I could avoid. It’s been 8 months since Mary has died and I refuse to take her place in Rosie’s life. Maybe it is time for me to leave you two this flat and remove myself from her life.”

The greying man stared at Sherlock for too long. The silence falling heavily on both of their shoulders as they exchanged long, meaningful eye-contact. “I don’t want you to move out, that was never what I was getting at. Nor do I believe you’re taking her mother's role in her life, that is going to be a hole no one will ever be able to fill. However, her calling you ‘Daddy’ or viewing you in a fatherly manner is far from terrible, Sherlock. You mean a lot to her,” _To me,_ he thought. “You cannot walk out of her life now,” _Or mine._ “not after everything.” 

The man in question nodded, shook his curls and stood carefully. Removing himself from the room and instead of taking a seat at the kitchen table where today’s paper sat untouched. His long fingers flicked through the pages, half taking in the content while his brain reviewed his conversation with John. 

One article stood out in particular, not a headline but a small piece of writing under the subsection of crime. 

_Woman, 27, 5’9 with short blonde hair missing since Sunday. Any word or sightings to be immediately reported to Greg Lestrade._

The picture accompanying the abstract intrigued Sherlock. As he studied it, the more his brain woke up, noticing features abnormal to a female of her age. A smirk adorned his face as he realised this may be something to work on, something to keep his brain alive other than the childlike puzzles at the end of the daily paper. 

Pulling out his phone quickly he opened his messages, eyes roaming over the most recent message from an unknown number. “ _Been a while, handsome I think we need a catch up - I”_ Ignoring it, he pulled up his last train of messages to Greg before tapping up a new one:  Afternoon, recently spotted missing persons report in the paper. Have you noticed the swell in her neck? - S

He sat, his cup firm in his hands and a smug smile tugging at his lips while he waited for a reply. 

Her face resonated in his brain for some reason as he stared at the table deep in thought, his mind remembering every freckle. Suddenly, a tug on his pants broke him from his reverie and he looked down to see Rosie’s face full of dribble grinning up at him. Sherlock smiled and picked her up, holding her on the table in front of him. 

“I think we have a case, Rosie! Finally a case!” With that, he stood and twirled the child round in his arms emitting a giggle. Catching John's eye, they exchanged a smile, the older man finally noticing the light that had returned to Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock placed Rosie on his hip and reached to grab the mug out of John's hands to refill it. Just as he was topping it up with water, his phone chirped from the table and he nodded at John to check the messaged. When he had turned around to offer him the cup, he noticed the large smile he was wearing. 

It took four words for Sherlock to mimic the smile, “They want you in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm really hoping you're enjoying this story that literally popped into my head after weeks of Isolation. I'm wishing you're all well and coping okay during these shit time. I'm not too sure where I'm going with this story character-wise, I have a plot roughly laid out but struggling with where I want character development within this story. 
> 
> Are we shipping John and Sherlock or are they staying friends?


End file.
